


Courage Don't Desert Me

by harleighf



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally, Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anastasia (1997 & Broadway) Fusion, DON'T SHIP REAL PEOPLE, F/M, I came up with this late at night, M/M, Musicals, My first fic pls dont judge, Please I worked Very Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23555641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleighf/pseuds/harleighf
Summary: Joe had been wandering as long as he can remember. Not even knowing his own name, all he has is a necklace and a promise, to be "Together In Paris." When he runs into two con people, Cleo and Mumbo Jumbo, Paris seems closer than ever...
Relationships: Grian/Mumbo Jumbo, JoeHills/ZombieCleo, Oliver Brotherhood/Charles | Grian
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	1. Have You Heard?

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my first fic and I came up with it at a whim and then was encouraged by my friend to post it, so, guess I have to.  
> I do plan on updating this so no worries there :)

As long as Joe could remember, he had been alone. Alone and walking along the entirety of Russia, trying to look for _something._ His family. He didn’t know who they were, or if they were even still alive. All he really had was a simple necklace, one that read, _“Together in Paris.”_

That was his goal. And by God, he was going to get it. 

But first, he had to focus on the task at hand. One does not walk from Yekaterinburg to St. Petersburg without money. _Leningrad, not Petersburg_ he reminded himself, glancing up from his current work, street sweeping, to a podium where a soldier of some sort often made speeches, reminding everyone of the “new and righteous order.” However dumb _that_ sounded.

Joe released a deep sigh, continuing to sweep the street, getting lost in his thoughts. He dreamed of Paris, and thought up new poems to write down once his shift was over, and he could go “home.” His current residence was not as bad as ones he had had before, sleeping under a bridge next to the Neva. 

_It definitely beats the forest in Bisert_ he thought to himself, chuckling while he swept. That was a rough one, sleeping alone during the harsh Russian winter. He had almost frozen to death then, but his resolve for Paris had kept him warm. _Soon…_

Although the sounds of the bustling city around him were drowned out, as Joe found himself lost in his own world, he was quickly brought back to reality by a loud sound. Without thinking, he shouted, dropping his broom and dropping to the floor, hands covering his ears. 

Then, he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, and the frightened man looked up.

“It was just a truck backfiring, comrade. That’s all it was.” The voice was deep, but sounded sincere. The other man offered Joe a hand, and he took it standing up, looking over the man’s face. It was the officer who often made the speeches, Doc.

“Those days are over, neighbor against neighbor.” Doc continued to speak, smiling at Joe as he continued. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Then, looking over the still scared Joe, he sighed, picking up the broom for him and holding it out. “You’re shaking. There’s a tea shop just steps from here. Let me-”

Joe abruptly grabbed the broom from him, looking Doc right in the eyes. “Thank you.” He said, starting to get back to work. His grip on the broom was so tight it turned his knuckles white. However, his attempts to get back to work were circumvented by the other man quite quickly, as Doc had grabbed onto the broom once more. “What’s your hurry?” He asked, concerned for his comrade’s well-being.

Joe yanked the broom back from Doc, shaking his head. “I can’t lose this job.” He informed him, not looking up at the imposing officer. Would he get in trouble for turning down the Bolshevik's offer? He didn’t care to find out. “They’re not easy to come by. I’m sure you understand.”

Doc smiled approvingly, glad that his fellow comrade understood the importance of hard work. “Well,” he started, stepping back to let the other continue to do his work. “I’ll be here every day, if you ever do want to take me up on that offer.” And with that, he left, the sincere expression on his face dropping as he straightened his shoulders and went back on patrol, listening and looking out for anyone who might oppose the new power.

Once the officer left, Joe let out a sigh of relief, finally looking up from the broom he was so very focused on. What even happened to cause the confrontation? His nerves were so fried he couldn’t even remember. 

Oh well.

* * *

Nearby, Cleo had watched the whole thing go down. Once Doc had left, she shook her head, glancing at the watch she wore around her wrist. _Where was he?_ She thought impatiently, looking around for any sign of her partner in crime. She had a new idea for a con, one that would hopefully get the two out of Russia before all of the borders shut down.

A few moments later, her mustached partner came running up, almost in a panic. “Cleo!” He hurriedly said, showing her a newspaper. “They’ve shut down another border! We should’ve gotten out of Russia while we still could!”

Cleo snatched the paper out of the man’s hand, reading it thoroughly. Once she finished, she crumbled it up, shaking her head and throwing it on the ground. “Mumbo, I’ve been thinking about Prince Joseph..” She said, starting to lead Mumbo to where a black market auction was taking place. She was greeted by a sigh from Mumbo, shaking his head. “Oh don’t tell me you believe that too. Everywhere I go it’s Joseph this, Joseph that. Cleo, I was there, remember? Oh, how lovely this city was when royalty was in..” 

He trailed off reminiscing of how lovely everything was when he was with the royals…The caviar, the riches, the parties. It was a miracle he had convinced the other nobles that he was one of them. _Count Mumbo Jumbo.._ He remembered with a smile on his face.

Only to be brought back to reality by the clearing of Cleo’s throat, the redhead shooting glares at him. “But, that was the past, Cleo! The tsar is dead, all royals fled, and look at us! We’re stuck!” He finished, just as they entered a large room, with clattering noises and overlapping voices. 

“I know he’s dead, Mumbo! But his dear old grandpapa doesn’t! Hear me out.” Cleo said, walking around the room, with different items that had been stolen from palaces being auctioned off. Royal artifacts were in, after all. And if they found one to convince Dowager Emperor Xisuma, then they’d be golden. “We find someone to play the part, teach them all about Joseph’s family and history, dress him up, and it’s smooth sailing to Paris and the old man’s money. Now, help me find something that could convince Xisuma.”

The illegal auction house was booming with noise as the two con artists walked around, looking for something convincing.

“Count Cubfan’s pajamas, don’t you want a pair?”

“A ruble for this painting! I promise, it’s real!”

Finally, they came across something that would just about solve the conundrum, as Cleo picked up the object to examine it, it caught the owner’s attention.

“Ah, it’s the music box you’re interested in.” The owner said, looking at Cleo’s expression. “It’s genuine Hills, I picked it up from the palace just the other day.” Cleo nodded, placing it down and looking up at the owner. 

“How much?” She asked, looking over the man intently. He seemed hungry. Of course, who wasn’t these days?

“Well, like I said, it’s genuine, I can never part with it-” He was quickly cut off as Cleo pulled out something from her bag. 

“How does three cans of beans sound?” She asked him, smirking. He quickly grabbed them from her, nodding. “Done.”

Cleo smiled, putting the music box into her bag, starting to walk out as Mumbo quickly followed. 

“Cleo, that was a dumb idea.” He chastised, looking over her. “You don’t have any food left.” To which she shook her head, waiting until they left the building and made it back onto the bustling streets of Leningrad. 

“Do you believe in fairy tales, Mumbo?” Cleo ignored the lecture from her friend, with a small chuckle. She glanced over to him, waiting for his reaction.

Mumbo sadly sighed, looking up at the cloudy, gray sky and said, “I used to..”

“Well, Count Jumbo, we are going to make a fairy tale the whole world will believe! Is it risky, yes, but not more than usual. You get us the papers and our ticket, and I’ll get us a Prince.” She smiled at Mumbo, who looked down at Cleo, smiling as well. 

He continued for her, having faith in their plan.

“With luck, this will all go smoothly, and we won’t be shot, and we’ll go down in history! Who else could do this but us? We’ll be rich, we’ll be out, and we’ll go down in history! I’m in!”

Cleo grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “I knew you’d say yes! Let’s go find us a Prince Joseph Hills.”


	2. My Heart Has So Much To Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Joe encounters Mumbo and Cleo, and shenanigans ensue

Joe had finally finished his work, and went to receive his pay. It was meager, yes, but he was  _ so close _ to being able to afford a ticket to Paris. He took the rubles from his boss, smiling up at him as he took them. The exchange was always quick and quiet, as he left, passing the long line of people waiting for pay.  _ There’s lines for everything nowadays _ , Joe thought to himself, keeping to himself as he walked along the Neva river, securely putting the rubles into his pocket.

Once Joe reached his bridge, he smiled, all of his belongings were still there. He sat down, and pulled out his wallet, counting all of the money he had saved up. And then, he counted again, and again, unable to believe it.

He had enough money to get to Paris. This couldn’t be real. He was so overjoyed that he almost shouted. Tomorrow, he will be able to go to the train station, buy the ticket, and leave! 

But that was tomorrow, he had to live in the present, and present Joe wanted to write. The poet pulled out his “journal,” a collection of pages from different areas he had been with different ramblings written on them. He was glad he still had the ability to write his poems, even though he didn’t know where it came from. Taking out his pen, he began to write, feeling a need to sleep come upon him, but he reminisced about how hard he worked in order to get here. And without thinking too hard, the pen connected to his brain and the words flew onto the page.

_ The Summer is past, _

_ But your days keep growing longer. _

_ There’s no wind in your sails, _

_ But the storm’s blowing stronger. _

_ Walking hard. _

_ Standing tall. _

_ Keeping your head up through it all. _

_ Fighting fires. _

_ Spinning plates. _

_ Goodness, how’d it get it so late? _

He yawned, looking over the river, the sound of it flowing lulling him to sleep. He thought of another stanza to his poem, but his eyelids were feeling very heavy. He put all his belongings into his bag, and held it close as he was lulled to sleep.

_ Lay your head down and dream.. _

However, his sleep wasn’t very peaceful, as he had been plagued by nightmares, ghostly faces, sounds of guns. The nightmares weren’t anything new for him, he’d had them ever since he had woken up alone in the hospital. Without any memories, or family. 

Joe awoke with a start, jumping up quickly. The sun was rising, and he sighed. It’s for the best that he awoke so early, he supposed. It would make his wait for the ticket quicker. The quicker he could get the ticket, the quicker he could get to Paris and his family. He smiled, gathering his things and looking around the underside of his bridge. This was hopefully his last day under it, in Russia, even. 

  
  


“One ticket to Paris, please.” Joe looked up at the worker behind the booth. He smiled at him, trying to not show his excitement and fear. The worker, however, was unsympathetic. He glared down at the happy Joe, and grumbled “Do you have your exit visa?”

Joe looked confused, and upset. “Exit visa? No, I never heard of that, I’m sure you can let this go just once, right?” However, Joe’s charisma did not work against the Soviet officer as he shook his head.

“No visa, no ticket!”

And with that, the shutter to the ticket booth slammed down, leaving Joe alone, upset and confused outside of the booth. Fighting back tears, he heard a girl’s voice.

“Paris, huh? I know someone who can help you out there.”

* * *

“Oh Grandpapa, it’s me, Joseph~” A sultry voice cried out from the abandoned palace’s theater. The actor on the stage dramatically put his hand on his forehead and dropped down with a smile. “They tried to kill me, but I survived and I walked all the way from Russia to find you!~”

Mumbo looked up at him, then glanced over to Cleo, who was grimacing at the performance. With a sigh, he crossed off the name Rendog, the final name on a long list of auditionees. After Ren was done, Cleo put on a condescending smile and looked up at him. “That’s all we need from you, thanks.” Ren grinned down at the pair, oblivious to the glare the female was giving him.

“Well, you know, I’m not an actor-” He admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. This elicited a faux surprise gasp from Cleo. “Really? I had no idea! Mumbo, did you know?”

“Thanks my dudes, I was really nervous about this audition and I didn’t know if I would do good or not-” Ren was cut off by Mumbo, who plainly said, “I’ll let you know if you got the role.”

After Ren left, Mumbo slammed his head down on the desk, groaning. “It’s useless! We’ll never get out of Russia, let alone convince Xisuma! Our last rubles are gone and wasted on this!” He carried on, griping about a lost fortune and how they should have escaped beforehand. Cleo just let him groan, thinking of how to recover their plan when she heard a voice.

“Cleo, I presume?”

Both her and Mumbo’s head shot up, looking over the mysterious voice, and Cleo spoke first. “That depends on who’s asking.” She eyed up the man in front of the theater door. He was skinny, looking like he had not eaten a good meal for years. He was looking around curiously, as his eyes glazed over. He started to sway, and Mumbo quickly jumped up. “Cleo, he’s about to faint!”

_ I've been here before _ .

Joe looked around the theater, faint memories pulling at his heart. It was a show of some sort. But when had he been there? Why would he have been there? He made himself push the thoughts away,as he looked over the two people in front of him. One had his head in his hands and muttering to himself, and the other was writing in a book. Finally breaking the silence, he asked, “Cleo, I presume?” He was only really able to hear the beginning of her response before all of the memories came flooding to him and he felt like falling.

When Joe woke up, the first thing he saw was a mustache in his face. He squinted, looking up at him, when he spoke.

“Oh, good, you’re awake!”

“Mumbo, step back, you’re scaring him!” A girl’s voice shot out, Cleo, he presumed, and the man in front of him stepped back. Joe blinked, sitting up fully in the chair. “I heard that you could help me-” He said, looking over Cleo and Mumbo. Cleo shook her head, walking up to him. “No, you cannot walk in here, act all weird and then faint on us! Who are you?”

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. “Here’s the thing… I don’t remember.” Mumbo crossed his arms, looking over Joe with a raised eyebrow. Joe could sense the suspicion from both of them, and he sighed. “I was found on the side of a road one day many years and years ago. It recently snowed, and I was barely breathing. The nurses told me that I was lucky to be found when I did.” He looked up at Cleo, who had a soft expression on her face. However, he felt the need to continue. “When I woke up, I was surrounded by nurses. They told me a new name and gave me a hat and sent me on my way. So I went. Without much other than this necklace, a promise of Paris. And that’s all I really want. To see what is waiting for me in Paris.”

Cleo nodded at the story, gears grinding in her head. She glanced at Mumbo, and he nodded to her. They were on the same wavelength, and she stepped forwards to talk. “Well, it’s true, we do have tickets and papers to Paris.. However, we only have three. One for me, Mr. Mumbo, and Prince Joseph.” She said, smirking as she looked over Joe for a reaction. “And, have you ever thought that you might be him?” Mumbo took the opportunity to jump in, walking up to Joe as well, matching Cleo in prose. “Think about it, you don’t know what happened to make you lose your memories, and nobody knows what happened to him. His only family is in Paris, your only hint is Paris. Don’t you want to see if you are him? You’ll find your family.”

Joe hesitated, looking up at the two. It did seem like his best bet, although he wasn’t sure. “But what if I’m not him?” He asked, crossing his arms. “I don’t want to hurt an already grieving old man.” 

Cleo laughed his apprehension away, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Then it’s an honest mistake! He’ll understand. What do you say? Are you in?”

Joe nodded, standing up and holding out his hand. 

“I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,,, someone i actually know from a discord server found this,,,,, yikes


	3. A Palace By The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, the trio is now preparing and working on the goal for Paris!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you haven't noticed, I have been basing each chapter off a song from the musical. It's hard keeping the elements of the musical without making it a total songfic.

Joe wasn’t quite sure if he made the right choice. He was sitting in a chair, trying desperately to take in all of the information Mumbo was giving him about the Hills family, followed by quizzes. This was one of the quizzing sessions, and Joe wasn’t having the most fun.

“Who was your great grandfather?” Mumbo asked, looking down at Joe.

“King Beef.” He responded, having been quizzed on this multiple times beforehand.

“Your great-great grandfather?”

Joe panicked a bit, not quite remembering off the top of his head. “Um, Prince Etho of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld!” He said quickly, looking up to Mumbo for confirmation. Mumbo nodded of approval, continuing on.

“Who is your best friend?”

“My little brother, Jevin!” He answered confidently, beaming up at Mumbo, but Cleo had finally butted in, looking up from a newspaper she had been reading. “Wrong. Your best friend is-”

And that was Joe’s snapping point. “I know who my best friend is, Cleo!” He almost shouted, looking up at the girl. It was almost as if he could remember playing with Jevin, the laughter the two shared together, and the fear he had when his beloved brother got hurt. 

“I don’t like being contradicted.” He said, shaking his head. 

“And neither do I.” Cleo rebutted, going back to her paper, shaking her head at all the misinformation in the paper. Blatant propaganda.

Mumbo sighed, going back to teaching Joe, leaving the quizzes alone. “And so, your distant cousin Keralis loved his vodka, got it?”

* * *

“Cleo, I think it’s really him.” Mumbo said one night, after they all had finished and went their separate ways. Joe had gone to sleep, still working hard in order to earn as much money as they could. Mumbo and Cleo were sitting together on top of Cleo’s “bed,” which was just a bunch of flour sacks. 

Cleo groaned and shook her head, not looking up at Mumbo. “Just because he knew about some old count’s cat, doesn’t mean it’s him.” She said, crossing her arms. “Besides, he’s dead and gone like the rest of those damn Hills.” But even she could admit that he looked a  _ lot _ like the prince. She wouldn’t though. There was no way that scrawny little street sweeper was the prince.

Mumbo looked over to Cleo, and sighed, twirling his moustache in thought. “With all the time I spent with that family, you would think I’d know a Hills when I see one. And I do. He remembers things that none of the textbooks mention, not to mention the French.”

On one of the first days of Mumbo and Cleo teaching Joe the royal ways, they found out he knew French. Mumbo had been teaching Joe how to walk properly, and the three were getting used to each other. Mumbo was trying to focus on teaching, while Cleo underminded him. 

“Now shoulders back, and stand up tall.” Mumbo went behind Joe, gently adjusting his position. “And do not walk, but try to float.”

Joe glanced up at the man, grimacing slightly as he tried to obey the instructions as he walked. “This feels dumb.” He muttered, focusing on walking. “Am I floating?”

“Like a sinking boat.” Cleo said, entering the room, laughing as she watched the interaction happen. Joe was not the most graceful on his feet, and it was clear he was struggling. “Come on Joe, if Mumbo of all people could figure out how to do this, then you have no excuse!”

“Cleo,  _ tais-toi. _ ” Mumbo said, telling Cleo to politely shut up in French. Joe looked up, pausing from his walking. His eyebrows furrowed, as he processed something. 

“Mama taught me French..” He muttered, not thinking anyone could hear him. “She said that Russian was a commoner’s language, and that all royals ought to know French.”

Cleo and Mumbo shot each other glances, pretending to ignore Joe’s ramblings. He must have just been getting confused, they figured.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Cleo muttered, standing up and looking over Mumbo. “The dead need to stay dead. Nothing changes that.” Inside, she felt like crying. Part of her clung to the past as well, as much as it hurt. 

“Cleo..” Mumbo softly said, grabbing her arm gently and comforting her. “Think of the reward. Besides, as long as Joe believes it, we’ll be fine.”

Cleo nodded, and was about to suggest sleep, when suddenly, a shout was heard from the other room. It was Joe, having another nightmare. Mumbo looked concerned for a second, and sighed, shaking his head. “Poor boy…” He muttered, crossing his arms. The two had pretty quickly learned of Joe’s nightmares, when, after two nights of Joe joining them in the old palace, he awoke with a shout. He never told the two what the nightmares were about, and they didn’t press. Everyone had their demons, and those demons plagued them in the night. 

“If Joe is waking up, then we should sleep.” Cleo mused, looking up at Mumbo, who nodded back. The partners in crime shared their goodnights and went into their respective rooms. 

* * *

It was not a good day. Joe had been distracted, and as a result was not taking information as well. It was a few weeks after Mumbo and Cleo’s conversation, and the three were getting closer. Or so it seemed.

“I’m done. I’ve had it, and I hate both of y’all!” Joe shouted, not out of nowhere. Cleo had been antagonizing him for missing some answers, and it evolved into a shouting match. “I’m sorry that we  _ ever _ met, I should have gotten my own exit papers! I’m hungry, tired, and in case you forgot, I’m  _ only human _ ! I’m going to gather my things and leave!” And with that, Joe had stormed off, going to his room.

Cleo huffed and walked the opposite direction, leaving Mumbo to mediate. He walked to where he knew Joe rested, softly knocking on the door as he entered. Joe was shoving his coat and the rest of his meager belongings into his bag. His journal was on his sack bed, due to him wanting to take the most care with that item in particular. 

Mumbo sighed sitting next to Joe and grabbing his hands to console him. “We’re all frightened every now and then, Joe.” He softly started, not knowing exactly how to word this. “But, we can’t let this stop us. Take a breath and count to ten, you have strength and courage, you barely know. Not everyone can walk halfway across Russia, you know? Now, are you ready to truly become the long-lost Prince Joseph?”

Joe nodded, composing himself. “You’re right, Mumbo. I apologize, I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I can do this. I’m ready.”

And so, they continued their teachings and training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating for a few days. My "spring break" is over and I need to focus on school again. I've also been struggling slightly with my health- I have something called Functional Neurological Disorder which can sometimes make it hard for me to type. I'll do my best to keep updating semi-regularly.


	4. What A Dream May Bring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doc confronts Joe and finds something shocking

Doc was sitting in his office, after being assigned a new case from his superior. He had heard the rumors in the past, that a member of the formerly royal Hills family had survived. Rumors like that were dangerous though, and not everyone had seen what Doc had that night his father received his mission. However, this was not a time for memories, Doc told himself, shaking himself out of it. He needed to get down to the bottom of these lies before they could undo all of the hard work his new regime had done. The dead should stay dead.

However, he didn’t get much of a reprieve as two people off the streets were unceremoniously shoved into his office. Doc gave the two a look, eyeing them up and down. 

“Names?” He asked, nodding towards the two chairs in front of his desk, and the two sat down.

“Rendog.”

“Impulse.”

Doc nodded, writing the two names he was given down, then looked up at the two again. “And what information do you have to give?” He asked, taking this very seriously.

Impulse looked over to Ren, and nudged him roughly, prompting him to speak. Not wanting to get in trouble, Rendog did so. 

“There are two people holding auditions to find a Joseph. They’re hiding out in the old palace, and said that once they found someone convincing, they would run to Paris and convince that old man the actor was him.” 

Doc nodded, writing this information down. “Any clues on who this actor might be?” He asked, looking up at the two when he finished.

Now it was Impulse’s turn to speak. 

“Some street sweeper with no memory. I’ve seen him walking around late at night sometimes rambling to himself. I swear, they’ll take anyone!” He said, looking up at the officer in front of him. 

“Do you have his name?” Doc asked, taking notes on the information he was getting. 

“All we know is that he goes by Joe. He claims not to remember a last name.” Rendog informed him, watching as Doc wrote down that information.

“Thank you for your service to your country. You are dismissed.” His voice was cold as he looked up to the two informants in front of him. Not wanting to disobey orders, they left obediently, leaving Doc alone with his thoughts. 

* * *

“Why are you arresting me? I didn’t do anything wrong!” Joe cried out as two officers grabbed his arms, causing him to drop the broom he was holding. Unceremoniously, he was thrown into an office, where another officer sat. He seemed to be surprised, standing up quickly.

“You’re that street sweeper-!” Doc exclaimed, standing up and walking over to the frightened Joe. He recognized the officer now, he was the one to offer tea to him after the truck backfired. 

“Sit, let me pour you some tea.” The hybrid said, leading Joe to his desk where he happened to have tea ready already. He poured two cups, gesturing for Joe to sit, handing him the cup before doing the same. “Do you know why you were bought here?”

Joe timidly shook his head, taking a sip from his cup. “No, sir.” He politely said, although he had an inkling. He thought he was being careful with his comings and goings from the palace where he, Cleo, and Mumbo and been hiding out, but apparently not.

“You have been accused of trying to impersonate a Hills. Do you understand what that means?” Doc didn’t give Joe a chance to answer. “It means you are trying to undermine our new regime. The Bolsheviks do not take that kindly, Joe.”

Joe’s eyes widened at the implication that was being given as he nodded his head in understanding. 

“I will let you off with a warning this time, Joe, but I hope you realize how dangerous of a game you are playing.

“I  _ lived _ there. I watched as those soldiers closed the gates. My father was one of those men to kill those people. I heard them scream, and their cries. 

"But do you want to know what stuck with me the most? It was the silence afterwards. After the shots died down, the pure and devastating silence that followed. Be careful what your dreams and rumors can bring. A revolution, after all, is a simple thing.” 

Doc looked over the shocked Joe, who was holding his tea cup tightly. He sighed, taking a sip of his own tea. “I hope you take these words to heart, Joe.” He said, taking one look into his eyes, and a harsh realization hitting him.

Behind those glasses were the Hills eyes. He would recognize them anywhere. He had spent enough time with the family before their death and looking to see if the claims had any validity that he was an expert. And sitting in front of him was a Hills. 

“You are dismissed.” Was all Doc was able to get out, and Joe didn’t need to be told twice. He placed the cup down obediently and left the office quickly, leaving Doc alone with his thoughts.

Standing up to go to the window, he looked down at his own revolver. Could he have pulled the trigger if it was him instead of his father? His mother had told the young Doc that his father had died of shame, but all his life he held the belief that it was a proud task that his father had completed, that it was vital for the growth of the reborn nation. 

He looked back up at the bustling city beneath the office. It would soon be spring, he noted. And as the Neva river flowed, it meant the new wind of life blew through the city. As the leaves unfolded, the Tsar and his family lied dead, and he realized how much he should focus on the conspiracies and rumors that plagued his new, great, city. 

After all, a revolution was a simple thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im actually SO sorry for not updating. ive had a lot happen to me (like the loss of my cat and neighbor). im working on having more regular chapters for this now i promise


	5. the future of this book.

As much as I love the world of Anastasia, I am not pleased with how this fic is coming out.   
So, I am not going to continue this. However, I will do another Anastasia au, just different and better.   
This was my first fic on AO3 and due to the losses I’ve dealt with recently, I don’t feel okay working on this one anymore.   
But, I’m still writing fics. Don’t worry :)


End file.
